


Kahve

by klingonvalhalla



Series: Coffee For Breakfast [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4825874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klingonvalhalla/pseuds/klingonvalhalla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to Cevze</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kahve

Through the delirium of fever heat came the heady scent of musk. Artificial, cheap, but pleasant. It was warm, and vaguely sweet on the wrist above him as the hand swept a cool cloth over his brow. Deep within his memory palace a woman with stormy eyes woke from a nap.

 

Hannibal had been forced to take the train back to Baltimore, as a tropical storm made the flight schedule too unpredictable. While he had not relished the idea of sharing such close proximity with a number of people for just over day, at least he would not succumb to boredom. This trip proved to be exceptionally memorable when a young woman boarded the wrong car moments before departure.

A duffle bag was clutched to her chest as she moved sideways between the two rows of seats in first class. Her rigid posture gave way to unease at being somewhere she didn’t belong. While her clothing, too large for her frame, was of good quality though well worn. He suspected similar articles in her bag: Clothes saved up for, taken care of until they became too threadbare to use. 

The train lurched and the woman darted to a seat. First class was relatively empty, save for himself and an older couple. He watched her slide to the seat beside the window, drawing into herself, hiding. The duffle bag and backpack that had been slung over her shoulder were beneath her, out of the way but easily reached.

At noon the older couple left for the dining car, and Hannibal was soon to follow. The food proved bland, unimaginative, but not terrible. He did not linger at the table, and chose to return to his seat after a brief stretch of his legs.

The woman hadn't moved, though her cheek was full of something. He caught the metallic glint of a granola bar wrapper before she stuffed it away in one of the backpack’s pockets. She didn’t savor the flavor or even acknowledge the presence of the food but to chew it. Her gaze was out the window, but not on the scenery.

She tensed and glanced at him, realizing she was being watched. The brief light of her eyes was stunning. The sunlight bleached the irises yellow until she dropped her gaze just as quickly as she had made the contact. 

He was another man staring at a woman to her. The way she turned herself to the side, drawing her feet onto the seat gave away a history of discomfort. The curiosity was maddening and he wished to approach her, to tease stories from her lips. However, she had cut him off with a shoulder, her face resolutely turned to the window.

She slept in fitful bursts: A hour here, fifteen minutes there. Night had just fallen, the sky still had a purple hue close to horizon, where a thin sliver of orange was slowly disappearing. The girl was napping again.

Hannibal noticed she had drank nothing but a single can of ginger ale since coming aboard. Two dollars and a quick trip to the concession car, he then placed three bottles of water on the empty seat beside her. He could feel the heat she radiated as he leaned over to place them in a way they would not make a sound.

The scent of musk around her was thick, warm, and pleasant. It was cheap, synthetic, probably sold at head shops or pharmacies. On her it was as lovely as Carven or Que Sais-Je. His eyes lingered on the exposed length of her neck, elegant and strong. He wondered how she would taste.

She awoke after he had returned to his seat. He feigned sleep and watched her through half lidded eyes as she noticed the gift. Thick brows drew together as she frowned at the bottles bumping together as the train rocked them. Like a deer presented with a salt lick, she lifted one, unscrewed the cap and brought it to her nose. _What a bright girl you are_ , he thought as she tipped it to her lips after determining it was safe.

Active now that the passengers were seemingly asleep, the woman stood, stretching her arms above her head. The sweatshirt grazed her navel, revealing a swath of well toned flesh beneath the heavy layers. She ventured to the aisle and bent forward, wrapping her arms around her calves. When she straightened, she smoothed the wild curls from her eyes and walked past him to the bathroom.

Upon her return he felt her linger near his seat, caught the faint scent of musk under the overpowering hand soap, and heard the crinkle of a slip of paper being folded. Her fingers brushed the front of his jacket, lightly tugging the pocket.

When Hannibal awoke, the train was stopping at Union Station. He didn’t remember falling asleep. The girl was standing, gathering up her few belongings. He watched her go, fought the urge to follow as she vanished into the crowd outside. He couldn’t risk it, couldn’t cancel the appointment that evening.

He felt inside the pocket she had touched a few hours before. It was a receipt from a thrift bookshop. The woman had bought The Hotel New Hampshire for $0.50 an hour before boarding the train. On the back in blue ink was a “Thank you” written in sharp, pointed cursive.

 

“You’re welcome,” he murmured.

“For what?” Will asked.

The hazy image of Will’s face came into focus. Hannibal rarely became ill, however, the recent battle with peritonitis and frigid weather had left him in a weakened state. Iceland had not been kind. Wind sheared through his coats and made his healing wound ache whenever they ventured from the hotel. 

He’d finished the regimen of antibiotics and steroids Will had managed to procure two weeks prior, a few days before their boat docked. Will never said how he got them. 

“The water.”

Will frowned, those same thick brows knitting together as he stared down at him. Gray eyes that still flashed yellow when the sunlight struck them at the right angle met his. They no longer avoided his gaze, nor fought to maintain it. “Do you need some?”

“No,” in truth he would have liked some, but didn’t want to vomit again. “On the train.”

He watched the realization cross Will’s face. “That was you? I- _Jesus,_ Hannibal. That was twenty years ago.” 

He turned his head to see Will lean against the bed post. Will’s gaze unfocused as an old sadness surfaced behind them. “How close was I to becoming a Ripper victim?”

The question stung more than he cared to admit. “Had she known me, would she have asked me to change for her?”

“Maybe,” Will had soaked the washcloth in the basin he kept on the night stand. He pressed it against Hannibal’s cheek. “But I wouldn’t.”

Will had, and would always never cease to surprise him. He had hoped for years, though it had seemed more fantasy as time progressed, that Will would run with him. Now that fantasy was reality and he wondered if their destructive natures would result in demise or a villa in Provence with the inevitable presence of dogs.

**Author's Note:**

> http://morlocksashimi.tumblr.com/post/129378202163/commissioned-a-young-pre-transition-will-graham


End file.
